Ritual
by Fairyfae
Summary: It's a SetoYami story kinda. The story is first person Seto. It starts before he dies and continues to after he is dead. Its mostly introspective in this chapter but if people are interested, there will be more.


Disclaimer: Yu gi oh does not belong to me. I can't believe I actually have to say that. Its pretty obvious I couldn't make any money off of this.

Spoilers and Warnings: I guess this fic is a little sad, although if I write another chapter, things will get better. I am just a little down today. There is a small spoiler for the last episode in here. If you haven't seen the whole series though, it is very possible that you would read right over it.

Ritual

One of the most expensive rooms in the world and still, silence has a sound. The pulsing hum of the air conditioner blankets the room in a soothing melody, numbing the mind and body into a dreamlike state.

I let myself submit. The irony of this ritual does not escape me. Who among all my acquaintances…and they are ALL little more than acquaintances now that my baby brother has long since died…would think that the great bastard would ever submit voluntarily to anything? Indeed, my name and the word submit has never once been seriously paired in a sentence until today. I must admit, at one time, I never would have suspected myself of such weakness. But today….today I submitted my corporation to my young nephew. And rightly so. He is so much like my brother and he is quite a genius. He is forward-looking in a way that I no longer am. For the last couple of years, I have not been able to escape the past. I used to need nothing but my company and my brother…or so I thought.

But now….now I need this minor ritual. I need these brief escapes into the past. I need the memory of exhilaration since I no longer revel in any of my daily victories. If only I had known. If only….

I should have known. Nothing ever lasts. Especially nothing good.

Am I really alive? All I feel is cold now. Day in and day out, I am forever unfeeling. And not unfeeling in the callous way I once was. Now, I actually feel nothing. Even the sensation of my finger pressing the button to turn on my computer feels distant from myself. The only indication that I actually succeeded in booting up the machine is the new sound; the whirling of gears intermingling with the dull hum of the AC.

Methodically, I sort through the numerous files on one of my many drives, skirting wall after wall of electronic security. Finally, I reach the desired program. For the first time since last week, the last time I conducted this ritual, I feel heat return to my body. I begin to feel life returning.

My sore eyes become riveted to the screen as the image of my one-time rival appears. I snort weakly. Its almost like magic. The only type of magic I ever fully admitted existed. More the fool I.

For the next two hours, I feel my heart beat again. I watch every recording I have of his face, focusing most intently on the battles between myself and that mysterious figure from the past. I study every twitch of an eyebrow, the exact angle of every smirk. By now, I know every minute detail of every expression that ever crossed my rival's regal face. Still, I marvel at the fact that I ever fooled myself into thinking this person and Yugi were one and the same. My fingers caress the monitor, a phantom touch meant to reach a specter from the past. Simultaneously, I feel my own lips curl in self-disgust at my neediness. Nevertheless, I close my eyes and fool myself into thinking the minor tingling transferred from the monitor to my hand is caused by the smooth surface of HIS face. I had always thought of him as mine. MY RIVAL. But even that was not really true. To him, I must have been little more than a dull reflection of a me from another time.

Our last real battle rolled to a close on the monitor and, instinctively I move to complete the next stage of the ritual, but something stops me. Some warmth…I could almost fool myself into thinking someone's hand was grasping my own to stop me. But, when I look down at my own wrinkled fingers, nothing is there. The images continue to move and I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Coward," a light, mocking laugh fills my mind, the sound little more than a faint echo of a vividly remembered voice. My eyes snap open. The sound on the computer should be off. I know it should be. I would never risk anyone hearing me replaying these shadows of the past. Even the slightest possibility of anyone else finding about my needy ritual disgusts me.

I gasp and tremble at the sight before me, instantly forgetting the spectral sound. These recordings playing now…I hadn't watched them in ages. I stare at the recording of me when finally I succeeded in opening my last amusement park. Involuntarily, a single tear rolls down my face at the sight of my brother standing excitedly beside me as a young man of 27. Bulbs are flashing as the press records the auspicious occasion.

I slap the offending moisture away angrily, that indication of weakness to much for me to bear even now that I have mellowed in my old age. I still have some pride. My movement harshly tears the delicate, age worn skin on my cheek. A thick, tiny bead of blood pools in the scrape.

A lump forms in my throat as I watch my arrogant, ignorant younger self look around with a triumphant smirk. My heart seizes up as I acknowledge to myself that even then, I needed more than my company and my brother. Even then, I was looking for my equal. I wanted to bask in my achievement but only if he was there with me. I was looking for him…looking for his approval. An approval he was not there to give.

I watched as the eyes of my younger self became cold with the realization that my rival was not there to witness the event. It was the first day I had really begun to feel numb even with my brother still around.

My painful walk down memory road is not over yet. I lunge for the button at the bottom right of the monitor, desperate to stop the flow of images but find I cannot move. Somehow, I feel arms grasping me to my chair and yet I see nothing.

Now, the pictures of my brother's wedding day play but I longer see what's actually on the screen. Now, all I can see is all the opportunities I had for happiness lost. I see my own cold face at Mokuba's wedding and I see my even colder face thirty-one years later at his funeral. I see myself turn away from my nephew and my mourning sister-in-law.

"Why?" I gasp as my heart seizes up in even greater agony. My right arm is beginning to actually go numb. I feel the impression of lips caress my cheek. Irritated with things I don't understand, I swat at my cheek. I bring my hand to my face and expect to see the blood I felt form there but my hand is clean.

And now I know. I see myself in retrospect. I see my parents turn away from me as they go to work one day, never to return. I see my aunts and uncles turn away as they drop me at the orphanage gates. I see couple after couple turn away from me as I insist that I not be separated from my brother.

Then, I see myself. I see myself cast in the ugly light of reality. I see myself turn away from hands held out in friendship. I see myself turn away from HIM. As he walks up to those glowing gates to the Netherworld, I see myself practically run away from him. I could have said goodbye. I could have told him that he meant something to me, but I didn't. And once that happened, their was no turning back.

I watch myself as I slowly turn away from the only family I have left….slowly but inexorably turning my back on life itself. Oh, I continue to pursue my goals but I no longer remember why they were my goals in the first place. The challenge, the desire to win and the need to succeed left me on that particularly arid day in the desert.

My body leans heavily against the back of the chair and I feel all my remaining strength leave me. My vision is dimming and now, the silence seems complete…not even the hum of the air conditioner disturbs the emptiness. I know now that I am dying and again, I submit.

In my life, I have turned away from everything. How can I now be surprised, that at the end, there is nothing around me. In one last surge of feeling, my heart reaches out for something…someone very specific to alleviate the endless loneness. But who is it…this person that my soul tells me I so desperately need.

I snort. Right to the end, I still deny what I want. My longing is the same as it always has been. I want family. I want Mokuba for sure but more importantly, I want him. I want him to be part of my family. By blood or by some man-made bond, I need him to be a part of me. However, my realization is far too little, far to late.

At the edge of my blurring vision, I see myself….

No, I don't see myself. I see my other self. The one who rightfully belongs to my…no the pharaoh is his rival not mine. But it is hard not to see myself in him. His eyes are hard like mine. I reach out to touch him. I know I do. But at the same time, I know I can't move my arm. Nonetheless, I feel the sensation of my fingertips brushing his…our face.

In wonder, I watch a certain twisted look cross that foreign and yet familiar visage. It is almost as if the face was trying to express too many contrasting emotions at once. The mouth twists up at one corner and down at the other, the eyes express consternation, sorrow, and…could it be a touch of pride. And then, the expression does something I never thought I would ever see on anything even approaching my face in appearance. The eyes focus on someone or something standing behind me and the features melt into such an expression of love it almost brings tears to my eyes.

But lucky for my prideful soul, before even a smidgeon of moisture can gather, the eyes refocus on me with sheer determination. If that is how I look at my employees, I can now feel a little pity for them. Not that my pity would do them any good now.

Without further warning, the phantom arms holding me down from behind released me and the hands of the figure in front of me plunge into my chest, both fiercely cold and burning hot at the same time. I gasp as I feel my very soul wrenched forth; pulled violently towards the other me. Involuntarily, I brace myself for impact.

Instead, I feel flooded by warmth, light and even more frighteningly, memories. These memories are mine and they aren't mine. They mirror images I experienced during my trip into the pharaoh's memories but now the memories are mine and they are more complete, more personal. I remember the life and death of my mother and the more controversial life and death of my father. I remember the joys and trials of another life.

I still maintain all my experiences from the twentieth century, but now I am more. I have lived more than one life and I am both one person and more than one person at the same time.

"You called." Again, the voice from the past filled the room, but this time it seemed firm and real.

Pushing my confusion into the background, I spun around on my heel and starred. There he was, more real than the now cooling body slumped sideways in an expensive, Italian leather office chair.

"You're here." I could have smacked myself at the idiotic comment. I may be old…older than one lifetime apparently, but I was never and will never be a simpleton. Furthermore, I could have smacked him as that insistent smirk spread across his face.

"Is stating the obvious a new habit of yours? Funny how things change." The smirk broadens. Hmph.

I tremble lightly as words spin into a confusing typhoon in my mind…Cousin, lover, pharaoh, rival…so many roles to be embodied in one person and I urgently need them all. And yet, I am paralyzed into immobility as he --- as young, stunning and more solid than ever --- strolls casually through the shadowy figures of a dead body, a chair, and a computer desk to stand idly in front of me; his arrogance and power evident in every ounce of his movement.

"Am I wrong in thinking you want me here?" He cocked an eyebrow at me in mockery or in challenge…I didn't know which. All I knew is that I couldn't let him go.

Violently I grabbed him, an action that only made his smirk grow larger.

"Bastard." My own voice is deep, and rough…filled with a need I'd rather not show.

Heedlessly, I recognize that the hands grasping the tan arms in front of me have the smooth appearance of youth. The skin is darker than my own but lighter than my counterparts. All in all, I thought they looked like the hands of a European male with a good tan. Moreover, I thought they looked perfect clenched tightly around the darker skinned arms of the small male in front of me.

All I can do is stare as his fingertips gently rise to brush my cheek. My lips part in an involuntary expression of feeling.

"Even now, you are still so stubborn."

I swallow hard and tighten my expression with a familiar arrogance to hide the soaring in my chest caused by the fierce possessiveness I see in his expression.

Fiercely, I lift his small body and press it against….and through the wall. Roughly, I fall on top of him, the rumbling laughter rolling up from his chest sending pleasant sensations though me. I can't help but raise an unbelieving eyebrow as our horizontal forms raise casually up through the roof and into the light grey of a misty, rain-drench morning.

Involuntarily, I cling to the figure immediately below me only causing him to laugh more. My ire rises and I push away to float free in the air. I am starting to get angry. Angry that I don't know what's going on and that this little asshole is enjoying my discomfort. Nevertheless, when he makes a move away from me I grab tightly onto him again.

He just runs around and shakes his head. "I am not going anywhere without you my priest."

I wince at the title and my lips tighten at his sigh of exasperation. I am so frustrated. How can one be happy, confused and angry all at the same time. I need some answers and I need them now. There is no reason why he should be here. There is no rightful reason that I should not be alone. Soul weary and incapable of hiding behind a fleshy mask any longer, I know my need for him must be easily apparent. Unfortunately, he had far more experience being dead and his emotions were far less obvious. A fact I was sure he was exploiting to the fullest. Exposed as I was, I took the only option that I had. I asked.

"Why?"

I watched a calm look of contemplation cross his face. "Why what?"

Choking on my own words, my own vulnerability. "Why are you here…with me?"

A look of understanding and sorrow crossed his face, neither of which told me anything and one of which pissed me off. Pity is not something I am looking for. He shook his head.

"Come…I need to show you something." Yami clasped and tugged me along as he turned away this time. I felt movement although I had no conscious recognition of trying to move. The world around me blurred and then disappeared. The only way I knew I was still real was the warm fingers grasping my own.

To be continued….(maybe)

So, what does everyone think. Should I continue this story. Is anyone interested in what Yami has to show Seto. If I write any more, it will likely all be in one chapter. Mokuba would show up in a cameo most likely. I also think their might be a small lemon. I don't know. It would probably be more of a lime.


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